As the Wolf comes South
by SnapesJapes
Summary: OC Stark girl in a forced marriage to Jaime Lannister. Ooooooooooh. Starts off pre GOT.
1. Chapter 1

**Sup. I will try not to make this boring and skip to the interesting parts. There is underage stuff but no smut****. Hope you enjoy :) Please review.**

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"Is this what you wear to seduce your husband?" he asked when he entered the room, an hour or more after I had left the feasting. It was getting rowdy and most of the women were planning to leave their men to the whores for the night.

"You should have heard the calls they gave when I said I was leaving to see my bride!" he said. "And here you are in _that_."

I was in my dull, ordinary nightgown, cross-legged on the bed. "I had nothing else my lord," I said. "Nothing else for sleeping, I mean."

"It is our wedding night. We are not _supposed_ to be sleeping."

I flushed but stayed silent. I so wanted a witty retort, but I had nothing to say.

"Alright," he said. "Let's do this. Let nobody say I left the thing unconsommated." He began to unbutton his doublet, then loosed the string of his trouser so that he was almost all revealed, only in small clothes. He was a god of a specimen, that much was true, especially be candlelight. I had seen a man's chest before but it had been my brothers', scrawny and lanky playing in the stream, or the blacksmith in the yard, a great hairy ogre. It had never crossed my mind that a chest was a _thing_, to be admired or complimented or compared to other men... but he was beautiful, delicately muscled, golden all over, skin taut and unbroken and he seemed to glow, to exude some extra worldly aura us lower mortals lacked.

"What are you thinking of?" he said.

I swallowed. "How much my sister would wish to be in my place," I said. Sansa was the one who huffed over long descriptions of yellow haired bards and lovers.

"Sisters, eh?" he smirked for a second, then turned serious. "Yes I'm sure you are quite the luckiest girl in Westeros. Can I help you with your dress?"

"No need," I said quickly, not wanting him near although of course it was only delaying the inevitable. The buttons were at the front and I looked down to undo them, but I was still aware of his eyes watching me.

"You know, when my father told me I was to be married, he went on about your beauty. Eltanin, the niece of Lyanna Stark who moved men to war, the daughter of Catelyn Tully, who has kept Lord Baelish hard for twenty years," he said, leaning against the corner of the writing desk. "They didn't tell me you had yet to reach womanhood."

"I am a woman," I said sourly. "I've had my flower."

"Ah, yes. Practically an old crone then. Glad we cleared that up."

My mouth moved but I had nothing to say. I had reached the last of the buttons and flustered, keeping the thing closed with my hands, wondering if we could somehow do it without him having to _see_ me.

"Go on then," he said.

I couldn't help but close my eyes as I stepped out of it but opened them again after a moment. He was looking at me with an unreadable expression and there was a long minute of agonising silence. "Forgive me," he said finally. "It is difficult to become excited."

I felt like I was blushing all over but looking down my skin remained white. My eyes at the ground, I could see for myself he was _right_; I was straight-up straight-down with narrow hips and the stick legs of a child. I had never _prided_ myself on being attractive but oh! To hear him say it! There was no malice there, no motive to insult behind his words, but only this bluntness which was worse. It was a dull disappointment - _oh. I see they have sent me a child when I longed for a woman_. I hated him then. What a vile man - what a cruel world to trap me here, where I had no retribution. All I could do was knit it inside me, fortify the iron core of my will. Women must be strong, my mother had said, to survive the storms they get caught up in.

"I suppose you know how this works?" he said, arms crossed. I suddenly got the feeling he was delaying the moment as well.

"I - well. Sort of," I said. "I know the, ah, mechanics." I had seen horses mating plenty of times and dogs at it in the yard so there was no mystery _there_. I was not exactly clear on how exactly in translated to people though.

"And your mother never mentioned anything else - how to please a man with your mouth, say? You know, to get things started?"

"My _mouth_?!" I repeated, without thinking to keep the absolute shock of it from my voice.

"I'm guessing not then." He took a deep breath and crossed his arms. "We'll just have to do this the old-fashioned way. I'll pretend you're somebody else."

"I'll do the same for you," I said, but it came out rather a squeak because he was now advancing towards me and it was going to happen, whatever 'it' really encompassed and it was all too scary, too absolutely terrifying, too nerve-quaking, to allow me to speak properly.

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**Please Review! I will update soon. Please call me out on inconsistencies/errors.  
****Also to clarify, Eltanin is ~15.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Here is chapter two. Exciting!**

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He was gone by the time I woke up, and that was the last I was to see of him for some time.

I sat up and the feel of the covers on my skin reminded me that I was naked. How odd! Sleeping naked at home would have meant waking up with the blood frozen in your veins but this was the south and, as I had to constantly remind myself, _everything_ was different. Anyways, perhaps there had been a man's body next to me all night keeping me warm.

I tried to imagine him leaving, hopping about collecting his clothes before creeping back to - to, well, wherever he slept. Where would his bedroom be? I put him in a little dormitory with the rest of the kingsguard, all of them sleeping under their white cloaks.

That was ridiculous of course - there were two outside the king's door at all times and you'd never put grown men all sleeping in a row like that, but... well it was funny, and it distracted me from other things.

The worst bit had been the beginning - he had to get me "wet" he said. That was the only bit where I felt exposed and embarassed and nervous. After that, it seemed to have very little to do with me. He had climbed on with his eyes closed and kept his head as far away from mine as possible and all I had to do was lie there. It was as if we were in different rooms. It wasn't exactly unpleasant but I didn't see what all the fuss was about, why men chased after it so much. Still, it was over now. If I'd done it once I could do it again, and wasn't it something to be able to say you'd done it? Wasn't I part of some sort of grown-up club now? A married woman who had properly, officially, lain with a man.

A maid came in, she was the one who'd helped me get dressed the day before too, and she did the curtains and asked if I would like a bath.

"Are you to be my maid every day?" I asked. She nodded ."Are you a proper lady's maid?"

She shook her head _no_. "I served Lady Sara of House Corbray until now," she said.

I was aware that it was a slight, I should have had at least three maids and a lady-in-waiting if my husband was heir to Casterly Rock, but there was no point in kicking up a fuss about it.

"I suppose this has been a promotion of sorts for both of us then," I said. "Is there anything to eat?"

"There was a tray m'lady, but it's gone cold," she said. "Also I am to deliver a message from the queen. She has asked you to dine with her and the children today."

I had slept quite late, I could see that now the curtains were opened, and they ate earlier than we did in the south and so, oh, I had precisely _no_ time to eat before going to see her. And what did one wear to meet the queen? Was it polite to wear one of the dresses she and Robert had given me, or did it make me look as if I had nothing nicer to wear? I was in a towel and the maid, her name was Christa, asked me what I wanted taking out of the trunks and I had no idea. I wanted somebody else to decide, my head almost instinctively turned to the right, the words were there in my mouth - _what do you think, mother_? But of course she was a hundred million miles away at Winterfell and the pang I had of missing her was only the cover of a very deep well. I couldn't give in to it now or I'd never make it to meet Cersei. "Something out of the trunk from the king," I said. "I like green, if we have any."


	3. Chapter 3

I was absolutely ravenous by the time I turned up to the queen's apartments and even as she presented the children to me, the boys very prettily kissed my hand, I was looking past to the table, hoping the food was already laid out but there was no sign of it.

It was all very lazy and luxurious in the queen's apartments, all cushion and silk throws and the fire blazing though it was warm out. Cersei was like a real lioness in her den, playing with Myrcella's hair and half-lying on a sedan chair.

"Eltanin Stark," she said, as if I was some interesting exotic creature in a zoo.

"Lannister now," I said, and gave a tight smile.

"Yes, yes of course, how silly of me. I am so _glad_ to have a sister by the way. I have always longed for one." I could not make head nor tail of her. Everything she said seemed friendly enough but each word was imbued with a hundred different meanings, as if she was trying to communicate secretly with me. "I do hope he treated you well yesterday."

"I - I... Yes, your grace."

"And last night?"

I glanced at the children but the boys were some distance away, Joffrey had the upper hand in some sort of playfight, and Myrcella was paying little attention. "He has been most attentive, your grace."

"I'm glad. Of course now that he has done his duty in sealing this alliance, you mustn't feel hurt if he stops visiting you. His duties in the kingsguard keep him very busy."

"The kingsguard, your grace?" I said. "Hasn't he been released from his duties?"

"Well yes, officially, of course, but Robert would be quite lost without him. And there is such honour in protecting the king and his family, Jaime takes it very seriously. It was all my father's doing to have him marry you. You needn't expect Jaime to care much for you at all."

I wasn't sure what to say to that and didn't do a great job of keeping the confusion off my face but she grinned brightly at me all the while I fumbled for words. As I opened my mouth (what was I even going to say - "thank you for telling me"?), she cut me off. "Shall we eat?" she said.

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Despite Cersei's words, I still expected Jaime to appear that night. I remembered Theon's teasing before I left home - "The man joined the kingsguard when he was fifteen! That's quite a while to work up an appetite. You're in for a rough few months."

I scorned him, of course, but the words had rooted in me and the sex was mostly what I thought about when I thought of marriage. After all, that's what marriage was _for_, wasn't it? He would come and visit me in the night. I put off dinner to see if we would eat together as man and wife in his solar but I wasn't sent for so I ate, quite bored, alone.

I sent my maids off and looked at myself in the glass. I had changed nightgown but I still looked a child. It was plain and practical and shapeless. I wondered if I dared wait for him naked and then, all in one go so as not to lose my nerve, I reached around and undid the tie at the back. Even as I slipped out of it I dimmed the candles and hastily got under the covers.

Bristling, I waited. I wondered - ought I get things started, so I'd be ready when he arrived? But no, he might think it strange. Perhaps it only worked if a man did it. Perhaps he would want to do it, though he hadn't seemed very keen before.

I lay a long time in the dark, feeling funny with the covers on my bare skin, and then, I was aware of a bell tolling some late hour. I had fallen asleep and waking now, the covers were smooth and untouched, the castle silent in the dark. He wasn't coming, I realised with sad certainty. I sat for some time, not sure what to think.

The fire had gone down and it was cold. I stood, taking some of the furs from the end of the bed around my shoulders. In the glass it caught my eye - it almost looked like a mantle. I turned and faced myself. The moon through the window cast odd light on my body and it seemed to catch everything the wrong way - I was all the wrong shape, all lumps and soft stomach and nothing but little swells instead of breasts.

I grew red in the dark and let the fur drop to the ground, climbing back into my nightdress. I tried to close the tie again but my fingers fumbled uselessly til I gave up and marched back to bed. How foolish I was! To think that he would-! Even after Cersei had warned me that he had little want of a wife... Oh, I was ashamed. I was just a baby playing at being grown-up. I was angry with my mother too - why hadn't she told me? Why had they sent me down south and put me in the part of a woman? Why had they dressed me up like - like a pig to pageant- ! My thoughts chased after one another in fast circles and I slept in ugly, fitful bursts.

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The maid brought me breakfast in the morning and my crying had left me ravenous. I ached for the sausages and heavy bread with dripping from home but the southron fruits and cakes would do. When I was done with the tray I stood and went to the box of biscuits above the fireplace and ate six, one after the other. Somehow I felt better, felt myself again, after eating. What was it to me if Jaime stayed away? Sniffling and weeping was all very well in the middle of the night but in the day I would be a Stark of the North again with hard clanging iron instead of bones and stones behind my eyes. What did it matter if he didn't want me? I had spent fifteen long years not being wanted by Jaime Lannister. I had spent fifteen years never stopping for half a second to consider whether I was desirable or not and there was no point starting. I was as beautiful as any young girl could reasonably expect to be and it wasn't enough for him (the picky, stupid, arrogant-!) it would never bother me.


	4. Chapter 4

I was asked for dinner when Lord Tywin came to visit. The prospect of dining with the Lannisters was daunting, I'd hardly spent half an hour in their company since the wedding, but I was happy to pass an evening with a person who wasn't my insufferable aunt Lysa and her sweet robin.

I wasn't even required to say much. First the children were brought in with a nurse, all very smart in red velvet. With all of the dressed to match I could hardly tell Myrcella from Tommen. "We ought to get that hair cut," the king said when Joffrey came near him.

"We will do no such thing," Cersei said icily.

"I _like_ my hair," Joffrey said, tossing it.

"Much too long for a knight," Robert said loudly, already into his cups, as usual.

"Uncle Jaime's got long hair."

"Fuck your bloody Uncle Jaime."

Jaime beside me made no move, no retort, but remained sloughing back on the sofa, as if he languidly surveyed a scene that had nothing to do with him.

"Daddy!" Tommen said.

"Don't listen to him darling," Cersei said, shooting Robert another icy glare. "Haven't you got a song for us, loves?"

Myrcella and Tommen did, something rather twee they'd learnt with their nurse about the blessing of the mother which they sang in rather high, cloying voices. Joffrey snickered while they performed.

"Very nice," Cersei said when they'd finished. "Wasn't it father?"

Lord Tywin raised his eyebrows. "Very."

"And now off to bed darlings."

Tommen and Myrcella went to their father on the instruction of the nurse to kiss him goodnight, but Joffrey stayed where he had sat beside his mother. "Why can't I stay up?" he said.

"It's time for children to go now," Cersei said.

"I'm not a child. I'm practically as old as _her_!" he nodded at me. "Besides I'm sure my grandfather would like to talk to me."

Robert let out a bark of laughter. "You grandfather would sooner hear his own shit talk!" he said. "To bed before I chase you with my sword."

A small battle of wills played out on Joffrey's face but he stood finally with a stamp of his foot and moved to leave. "You couldn't chase anybody," Joffrey said as they left, but Robert didn't hear him.

"I don't like that nursery maid," Cersei said once they were gone.

"Half the women of Westeros seem to have had the honour of caring for your royal children," Tyrion said. "How many have you had since the new year?"

"It's difficult to find one you can trust."

"They're too old for nurses now," Robert said. "Myrcella ought to have a septa and we'll find Tommen some boys his own age."

"My cousin Laida has twins about that age," Lord Tywin said.

"Trying to sneak a few more Lannisters into my court, eh Tywin? As if you didn't bring enough bloody redcloaks on your way here," Robert said. He looked to me. "You've got brothers, haven't you girl? Think your father has one to spare?"

I smiled for a moment, feeling rather a startled rabbit as everybody naturally looked to me. I swallowed. "I fear they'd miss the freedom of the north, your grace."

"He wouldn't even send the bastard, no? I suppose I was lucky to even get you." He turned to Tywin. "How do you like that then, Lannister? Your son married to a Stark."

"The Stark's are an old and noble family. It was not an insensible match."

"Sodding hell, Lannister, we all know he would have had a cousin if you'd had your chance." he took a long dreg from his tankard. It was funny being around him, this man who was supposed to be our royal and noble king but his behaviour could only remind me of one of the hedge-lord's squires who sat at the end of the tables in our halls and mauled the serving girls. Still, it was amusing, if tense, to be around him. One could never know quite what he would say next. He was opening his mouth, perhaps to slur another insult to Tywin, when Cersei informed us it was time to eat.

I knew there was a proper order to stand and I ought to walk beside my husband but somehow I was in step with Robert and I was at his left and Tyrion at his right as we ate. I thought it was odd that both the married couples had been split at such a small table but I supposed they did things differently in the south, and Cersei wanted to lay claim to her father and have Jaime opposite her.

Cersei commanded most of the conversation. She seemed to preen and ruffle her feathers in front of her father, wrestling his attention back each time Tyrion made a dry comment. She told him mostly stories of the children (they were admired by everyone who met them and the common folk cheered Joffrey's name in the streets) but somewhere shortly before dessert, we were on a course of brazed swan, she switched to asking after various families in the west. I recognised few of the names, some were Lannisport trading families, but I tried to listen. I would one day be Lady of the Rock (though it didn't seem true) and I felt I ought to learn a few details. "What of the Lantwell Castle Lannisters?" Cersei asked. "Did they ever trade away that hideous daughter of theirs?"

"Lannisters and Lannisters," Robert said in a low voice. As Cersei continued on he glanced to me and said, "I'm glad to have a Stark at my table."

"Half a Lannister myself now, your grace."

"Ah, no you're not. You're the image of my Lyanna." He took a long drink. "My Lyanna...lying in a bloody crypt in the snow." The others had all gone silent, Cersei's knuckles were white around her fork. "My Lyanna, you never saw a girl like her. I wasted you on this bastard. Should've convinced Ned to let you marry _me_."

There was absolute silence. I could only imagine the look of distaste on Tywin's face. I had no idea how to respond to something so inappropriate. How did one address a rude, drunken king? I gritted my teeth and said it - "You are too kind, your grace."

He laughed, a deep belly laugh, and Jaime said something to his father which moved the conversation again. Across the table I exchanged a look with Tyrion, who smirked away. From the little time I had spent in his company, he seemed to observe his family as an amusing circus show to watch from afar.

We moved through three courses of dessert, all intricate its of clotted cream and shaved chocolate, and then moved to another room to let the servants in.

Robert promptly fell asleep in his chair and his quaking snore halted all talk. Cersei looked at him with disgust, her lip curled at the sight of him. "He is a vile man," she said. She glanced to Tywin. "Tommen would do a better job." She looked back to her king. He had stains on his doublet, remnants of food in his wiry beard. "_Tyrion_ could play the part better. I'll get the guards to bring to him to his rooms." She stood. "I ought to retire as well. Jaime will escort me to my chamber."

"Tyrion will do it. I have need of Jaime," Lord Tywin said. I made to rise as well but he said, "You will stay too," and I sat. We watched in silence as two of the Kingsguard entered from where they had been posted outside the door. If they were surprised to find the king incapacitated and untidy they gave no indication. They supported him to his feet and he stumbled out. Cersei had left already, her long strides outpacing Tyrion so the Imp hopped to keep up.

"The way he treats her is disgusting," Jaime said, when the three of us were alone. "He will go whoring now, you know. He makes it known that he will not have any fair-haired whores. He humiliates her."

"I care little for Cersei's troubles. Robert has served his purpose, she has had her children," Tywin said. He had been looking into the fire, his face an unreadable mask as usual, but now he turned to Jaime and I. "What concerns me is the two of you," he said. "I have had reports that your marriage remains unconsummated."

Jaime's eyes flashed. "That is untrue. We lay together our wedding night."

"And since then?" Jaime did not reply. His gaze dropped.

"Odd behaviour breeds odd rumours, Jaime," he said. "The maiden is inoffensive and yet you leave her untouched. While I have little interest in any extra activities you pursue outside the marriage bed, I trust you understand your duties to provide an heir. I am happy to let Joffrey take the throne, but he will never get his hands on the rock. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes father," Jaime said. His voice was hard and I dared not look at him.

"And there is no problem on your part?" Lord Tywin said to me.

"No my lord," I squeaked.

"Good. I expect an heir for my next name day."

He rose and left us. I stared at my hands, then said, gently, "We don't have to do it, tonight, if you'd rather-"

"No. We may as well start." He stood. "Where are your chambers again?"

"Down by the Red Corridor."

"Gods, you're out of the way."

It was - the walk was long from the royal apartments where we'd eaten and sat. The keep was quiet and dark and any errant servant quickly leapt aside at the sight of Jaime.

In the room I said again, "We can leave it, if you'd like. You can tell him I'm not fertile."

"No, no. I knew I'd have to get around to it someday. I think- I think he thinks... that I'm..." he trailed off, as if hoping I'd divine his meaning. "Well, you know." I did not. "Well, of the _male persuasion_."

"And you're... not?" I said carefully.

"No!" he said. "The problem is..." He frowned, searching to phrase it. "Well, I wasn't celibate for all those years. I love another."

"The kingsguard is supposed to abstain."  
"Yes I always seem to mix my vows up, don't I?" he said. "Anyways, it makes no difference. She'll just have to deal with it."

And so with one hand he began massaging himself through his breeches, trying to arouse himself sufficiently I suppose, and with the other he began pulling off his doublet. It was all so perfunctory, so dull. It was the same room I sat in day after day breathing in old air.

It was much like our wedding night except we kissed. It felt as if we were blaspheming, dancing all over some hidden, sacred ritual. We kissed on the bed and he found my lady parts but it was all a means to an end. I was dully aware that the reason his fingers moved so well, slipping ten places at once, was because he had practised, had perfected his skills on somebody he loved.

And then he pushed himself in and all I had to do was wait. I opened my eyes. We were so close, I could have reached up and run my hands over his chest, I could see the hairs on his golden brown arms, I could almost envision how it _should_ feel and yet it was all a mockery of something secret and beautiful.

He spent himself in me and then waited a moment, breathing heavily, before pulling out. Only one torch burned in its bracket and he quenched it and took his breeches from the ground. He put them on and then lifted the covers and lay down. "Goodnight," he said. I hesitated a moment then sat up and picked my nightdress from the chair beside the bed and slipped it on.

I lay beside him in the dark. I lay awake for a long time, cold despite the warm night air. It was the terrible permanence of it all. It was laid out so tidily in my future; I would bear his sons and walk beside him. No human kindness would again touch my heart. I had never felt so lonely and there wasn't a comforting eye in the world. My family were in Winterfell, a place I could hardly believe existed. I longed, more than anything, for the touch of my mother, the smell of the hall, the noise of Theon and John sparring in the yard. Jaime was asleep beside me but I was far north, beyond the Wall, left to the bite of the elements. There was no point in crying - I would never stop if I started.

Jaime moved beside me and suddenly he was close and in his sleep, by some natural instinct, his arm came over my side, his fist against my heart so that we lay entwined. The suddenness of it made me start but he was so warm - so close! It was only a body moving, I knew. It was no reflection on the feeling of the man inside it. And yet-! And yet it was the touch of human skin, it was the heat of another person's body. I closed my eyes and I couldn't help it, I pressed myself closer against him, I leached for any comfort I could get. I savoured the moment, knowing I might never have it again. This feeling was one to store and recreate, I know; one to note and mark so that I might take it out again on cold nights and wrap myself in it again. His arms around you - remember it Elta - his breath on your neck... He won't let you spend another night in his arms, I said to myself. Enjoy it while you can, it's the best night's sleep you'll have in a while.

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	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you very very much for the reviews left after the last chapter! It really means a lot to me and motivates me so much to write.**

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The next night, after feasting in honour of lord Tywin (twelve courses of glazed duck and as many awful renditions of _The Rains of Castamere_) I was in my chamber again with Jaime. "My father is to give you guards, so don't be alarmed at the men following you around," he said. "They're hedge knights both of them. Saving your life is their one hope of being granted lands so they should be doubly eager to keep you safe. He means to send more but he didn't take a large party with him."

"How did you get that cut?" I asked. He had one on his face, running clear from under his eye almost as far as his chin.

He grimaced. "Some people would rather I didn't spend the night here."

"Your _whore_ scratched you?"

He laughed outright. "Where did you hear such a word?" he said. "But yes. Your little maids are indiscreet."

"She oughtn't slap you."

"She has more right to me than you. She was here first after all. I'm the one being unfaithful."

"You've got a very muddled version of honour. You can't be unfaithful with your _wife_."

"As I say, I can never keep my vows straight," he said. "Come on now and let's get on with it. I tire of chatter."

And so I sighed and threw myself back on the bed. How many times before the seed quickened? I'd have to ask somebody about it. Not the maids; they'd shown me a new measure of respect when they realised Jaime spent the night and I didn't want to flaunt my ignorance in front of them. There was my mother but she was so far and I hated to think of the letter being intercepted - pink old Varys chuckling to himself as he read it. Cersei was entirely out of the question. Who else did I have? Aunt Lysa. Oh gods the thought of _her_ having sex... ! Except she must have done it at least once to produce her vile little sweet robin - and with John Arryn no less! I had such a sudden image of her splayed on the bed, all grey and flabby, wrinkling her face into something seductive, and I couldn't help it - I laughed.

Jaime, still dutifully pumping away, froze. The look on his face - a chicken that had just been plucked - it only made me laugh more 'til I threw my arms up around him and kissed him smack on the lips. I don't know, I suppose it was just the release of tension but he had his crisis just then and it was so funny - you could be so physically close to a person, he was literally _inside_ me, and yet we weren't even in love, or any imitation of it.

He left quickly after, he seemed embarrassed. I was in a funny mood. I stayed lying back on the bed while he dressed, I should have offered to help with his doublet, but I stayed there after he was gone. Somehow you felt a lot more when you were naked, all the little unthought of patches of skin gloried in the chance to tell me they were feeling silk - silk! soft silk instead of the insides of clothes!

I went to the mirror. Had I changed since the first night? One day, after all, I would look properly womanly. At least if I was pregnant my breasts might grow. Had my mother's been big after Rickon? I couldn't remember.

If only I'd paid more attention to her at the time. I'd been young when she was big with Arya and Bran, but Rickon, I should've been able to remember that.

The problem up north was there were hardly any real ladies and even when there was the rare pregnancy you hardly noticed underneath the big woolen dresses. Sex happened under eight layers of fur and everybody seemed to agree that when the time came a woman should lock herself in the cellar like a cat and arrive a few hours later holding twins. I was woefully _woefully_ ignorant on specific.

It made me rather lonely. Being naked did that to you too - once there were no physical barriers all the mental ones seemed to dissolve too.

In bed, I decided I was rather glad Jaime would not be staying the nights. It would be hard, after all, to sleep next to a person night after night and not love them a little bit.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Whoo this story has gotten some interest how exciting! I actually wrote everything up til now in March 2013 so I'm afraid of not being able to do "the voice" now but oh well we'll see how it goes. I'm aiming for updates every 3-4 days. Thanks very much for all the kind reviews that've been left and I look forward to seeing more comments! :)**

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My first tourney was Joffrey's birthday. I was pregnant by then (hurrah!) and something about all the colours - bright garlands of flags, hot blood clotted and matted into day-old straw, Renly Baratheon and his imitations strutting about in scarlet and green - it turned my stomach. It didn't help that I was at the front of the royal stand. The men were still standing in the jousting run, arguing and gambling over the afternoon's events. Everybody was lurching about drunk, the king the worst of the lot. It was supposed to be an honour to sit there but all it seemed to signify was a more violent smell of horse.

The king had happened to knock Myrcella in the back of the head with his elbow during a drunken stumble in the morning and so Cersei was off fussing over that. That was all well and good except it meant Joffrey was free to play the tyrant unsupervised. There was some sort of performance about his birth finishing up but he was actively ignoring it in favour of beating Tommen around the head with his new dagger.

"Gently your grace," came a snide voice entering the box. "Wouldn't want to kill anyone on your name day." The Imp was one of the few who still dared scold Joffrey, no matter how lightly.

"It's not _hurting_ him," Joffrey said. Tommen, in tears and red-cheeked, opened his mouth to protest but shut it again.

"Come along Tommen, you can sit up here beside your Aunt Stark." Tyrion was already climbing onto the bench next to me.

"I want to find mother," Tommen said. His bottom lip was trembling dangerously.

"Don't you want to see your uncle Jaime joust? He's very good," Tyrion said.

"I suppose." He paused a moment. "Can I do a bet?"

"I've already put all my money on Jaime, but I'm sure Lady Eltanin would take a gamble with you."

"I'm afraid I couldn't bet against my husband."

"Oh go on, I'll tell him you only did it because I asked," Tommen said, pulling himself up between us.

"Alright. What shall we bet?"

"I haven't got any money. But I could you a kitten! There's two cats just had kittens."

"Okay. I'll find you a present if Ser Jaime wins."

"_Very_ exciting," Tyrion said. "As if the whole thing wasn't thrilling enough as it is."

"You don't really strike me as a fan," I said.

"I'm not, but I'll cheer Jaime. My, he does look well in his armour, doesn't he?"

He'd just come out with his squires, there seemed to be about six fawning over him, and he was in the new armour his father had brought from Casterly Rock. It was all gold, hammered thin to cleave to his body. He gleamed and rippled; any ray of sun magnified a hundredfold coming into contact with him.

"A bit tacky, isn't it?" I said.

"I couldn't agree more."

"In the North they don't always wear _shirts_ when they fight."

"Ser Loras would probably like that quite a lot."

He was there too, walking out to greet the king. He was elaborately carved out in roses and stars. Both contenders bowed to the king. They bore more than a passing resemblance and the king had trouble telling them apart for a moment. "You won't be getting _my _blessing!" he roared in Jaime's general direction, once he had identified who was who. "I stand to win a few pretty trinkets and a lot of gold if Tyrell here knocks you off your horse!" and he fell into guffaws at his own wit.

They came over to Joffrey then and he languidly received their birthday wishes.

"Father's not here, is he?" Jaime said, squinting up at us.

"No. I'm sure he'll make it for the final though."

"And Cersei?"

"Myrcella got a knock earlier, she's gone to look after her," I said.

"Oh." He didn't seem too put out, but I felt sorry for him all the same. He seemed stiff in his new armour and Loras was so young and eager for glory.

"Would you like my favour?" I asked. I hadn't thought about it much but I did have a clean handkerchief. It even had a rather lopsided attempt at a lion stitched on.

"Oh. I - eh, I don't really..._take_ favours," he said. "Sorry."

"I'd gladly have it m'lady," Loras interjected, flashing a brilliant smile. He had a way about him, I understood why they all fawned over him at court, but I hadn't quite felt the appeal til he turned his smile on me. He had a way of shaking his hair so that one brown curl broke loose and hung in the middle of his forehead, just teasing you to brush it out of the way.

"You would really take my wife's favour?" Jaime said.

"I only thought I might be granted some of the North's fighting spirit, ser. No offense meant." He beamed again at Jaime and Tyrion's unwavering expressions and then waltzed off to see about his horse.

"I better get started as well," Jaime said.

"Good luck," I said.

"Ah...thank you." He nodded stiffly and hesitated a moment before walking away.

"The air ripples with tension when you two are near," Tyrion said, leaning back into the bench. "I feel I'm quite intruding. How _do_ you keep from tearing each other's clothes off?"  
"Oh shut up."

* * *

It was another two days of feasting and then I was back to eating along in my parlour. The maid had left a tray but I was beached on the sofa, too lazy for anything. I groaned internally when a little knock came at the door - I was sure it was my maid back to bother me - but I called out, "Come in."

It was Jaime. He was still walking stiff - Loras had unhorsed him rather spectacularly in the end.

"I'm playing messenger," he said. "Tommen asked me to deliver this to you." He held up a kitten.

"Oh. I forgot about that."

"He was very keen you get it before we leave."

"We had a bet."

"I know."

"Sorry. He wanted to bet for you so I had to go against."

"Doesn't matter," he said briskly. He was not looking at me though, he was concentrated on very carefully placing the kitten on the arm of the sofa. "What are you going to name your prize then? Tommen informs me it's a _he_."

"We don't name cats in the north."

The little thing was hardly old enough to be away from its mother but it clawed admirably at the sofa and mewled for milk.

"What about the baby then?" he nodded at my stomach.

"Oh no, it's bad luck to talk about that before it's born," I said. "Wildlings don't even do it until they're two or three."

"Are we wildlings? Are we in the north? Is the mother of my child to be some back-country superstitious henwife?"

"_No_," I said sourly. "I'm only saying I think it's tempting the gods."

"And I was only trying to make conversation." He rolled his eyes and huffed out, leaving me and the little nameless kitten to stare at one another. I knelt up to look at it properly. He was tabby and ordinary enough looking, just the son of some rat catcher, but I supposed I would keep him. "Hallo little cat," I said. "I am Lady Eltanin Lannister of Casterly Rock. Pleased to meet you," and I took his little paw and made a go at shaking it.


	7. Chapter 7

I was in much the same spot when I received another knock at the door a few days later. The castle was still in recovery from the tourney. Lord Tywin and his retinue had been the last to go and with them the queen and the children, and of course wherever they went there was Jaime to stand guard and half a village of attendants and admirers and servants to follow them. I hadn't thought there was anyone _left_ to call on me.

The maid opened the door to two girls I vaguely recognised from the few afternoons I had spent in Cersei's quarters; Cerenna and Myrielle. They were tall and golden with fair, even faces - how could they be anything _but_ Lannisters? I was considered tall in Winterfell but I'd gotten big quickly with the baby and I felt a bit squat and hairy standing to greet them. They curtseyed deeply and I gave an awkward bob in return.

They were very formal at first ("we've been praying each morning for the birth of a healthy Lannister heir") but once they were seated it all fell apart. "It's just _so_ dull with them all gone west," Myrielle said. Her eyes were roaming, openly judging my rather humble parlour.

"We were supposed to go, but there's a ball for the queen and we haven't got dresses."

"What about you?" that was Myrielle again, leaning forward, eyes bright. "Why haven't you gone? Have you quarrelled with Jaime?"

"Myr! Don't be rude," Cerenna said. She tossed her head, (she _had_ to be aware her hair was her best feature), but she glanced at me sidelong all the same, to see if I'd respond.

"No, no, nothing like that," I said quickly. "The queen just thought I shouldn't travel, with the baby and everything."

"Rotten luck. You'll get to go again though," Myrielle said sympathetically.

"_Obviously_, idiot. She's _inheriting_ it."

"Who's being rude now? Ooh, is this cat yours?"

The kitten peered into the room from the windowsill. He was a bold little thing and jumped in to be caressed.

"Tommen gave him to me before they left," I said.

"Oh yes, I saw him going around with a great armful of them," Myrielle said. "Good thing this one got away, Joffrey usually kills them faster than they can breed."

Her sister elbowed her. "His grace doesn't mean it, obviously," Cerenna said quickly. "Just you know how little boys can be. It only happened once or twice anyways."

Funnily enough I couldn't remember Bran or Jon ever accidentally killing anything. Even Theon had more care.

"You had a quick escape with him," Myrielle said. She was freer than her sister, especially pre-occupied as she was with the cat.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"There was talk of Cerenna marrying Joffrey, even though she's heaps too old. People say she looks like Lady Joanna, though, so Lord Tywin liked it."

"It was never _really _going to happen," Cerenna said. "The king's got a bit of a thing against mixing with any more Lannister's right now."

"Well I hope they find somebody for you soon - I can't get married 'til you do."

"You've got brothers, haven't you?" Cerenna asked.

"Bran's only seven, sorry," I said. "There is Jon, but he's a bastard."

"Pity." Cerenna sighed deeply and pushed herself back into the sofa. It felt a bit strange to have other people in my rooms even though the parlour was _for_ entertaining. "You're lucky it was sorted for you so young," she went on. "And you've got Ser Jaime too."

"Cerenna's always admired him," Myrielle said slyly.

"I have not. He's our cousin."

"So? Lord Tywin and Lady Jo were cousins and they were the greatest love story that ever lived."

"Were they?" I asked, my interest piqued.

"Well I don't know. She died ages ago," Myrielle said. "But there are some great songs about them."

"I love that one - _The Lion and His Heart_ but all we ever get is the stupid _Rains of Castamere_."

"When Jaime inherits you should make a rule that nobody can sing that song."

"Maybe there'll be songs about us by then," I said dryly. Somehow I couldn't see anybody being inspired by the heat of our love.

"There's one already, didn't you hear it? It was that bard from home," Cerenna said.

"It was about him breaking his kingsguard vows because he heard a description of your beauty."

"I thought it was quite good, but the queen hated it," Cerenna said. "She said it was tacky." She shrugged.

"Do you remember that was the day she slapped Senelle?"

They were off then, rehashing the incident. It reminded me a bit of the old sewing circles up north - Sansa and Jeyne Poole giggling and elbowing one another under the Septa's watchful eye. It felt funny to just laugh along. I had almost forgotten what it was like to hear new things and talk to new people (which was, on the whole, pathetic). I quite fancied the idea of making a few friends at court.

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	8. Chapter 8

I must have made an alright impression because they returned the next day, and the next. Together we walked the gardens and thought of interesting things to eat and they showed me their silly games. I recall we were in my parlour playing one that involved dripping candle wax on my thumbs to foretell the sex of the baby when the messenger arrived to herald the death of Lord Arryn.

Had he been ill? I hadn't noticed if he was. I felt compelled to seek out my Aunt Lysa that evening and offer my sympathy but she was not much interested. I found her in the tower of the Hand, watching her son set up a row of tin soldiers on the balcony. I began to say how highly my father had always spoken of Lord Arryn (I had an idea it was what you were supposed to do to comfort the bereaved) but then Lord Robert stood up demanding milk and I didn't want to watch _that_ so I left.

Everybody was called back from Casterly Rock and the funeral was very extravagant because of course now there was no Jon Arryn to check Robert's spending. There were enormous wreaths of gold roses brought in all the way from Highgarden and all the fountains were stopped for an hour in respect and there were twelve (twelve!) black stallions to bring the carriage with the coffin from the Hand's Tower to Baelor's sept. Miles and miles of black crepe were measured out and hung off anything that stood still long enough. Half the court had new clothes. I could almost hear the creaking of Lord Arryn's joints as he writhed in his tomb to see Cersei's new gown, very beautiful but hastily run up by fifteen dressmakers, all at the expense of the crown. Black did not even suit her well.

There was a feast for him too. I was stuck at the end beside Tyrion which I usually didn't mind but he was rip-roaring drunk and in the process of wooing a generously proportioned serving girl so I was sat bored as bull, miserably toasting myself whenever the king began another cry of "To Jon! To Lord Arryn!" As soon as I felt it acceptable I went down to the lesser Lannister relations, namely Cerenna and Myrielle.

After a few more courses I saw Cersei rise to mingle the hall. She cut an intimidating figure coming down from the top table with her train spread out behind her. She seemed pale in her black silk and she was serious, frowning when she saw us. She broke into a smile as she came closer. "Girls!" she said and the other two rose to kiss her cheek. "I was wondering when I'd see you. _Such_ a shame you couldn't have come to the Rock with us."

"Another time," Cerenna said.

"It seems you've been enjoying yourselves in my absence anyways," Cersei said, glancing at me. Her eyes lingered.

"They've been very good to me," I said.

"They're good girls. I'd be quite lost without them." Then she smiled, tight and terrible, and went off to talk to more senior members of the family.

"She's angry with us," Myrielle said glumly, sitting down abruptly. She pushed some food around her plate with the point of her knife.

"What's there to be angry about?" I asked.

"_Nothing_! There never is."

"I suppose we should've gone to see her last night, when they arrived. You can never tell though," Cerenna said, biting her lip. She was still watching Cersei from the corner of her eye.

A few days later I waddled into a room full of Lannisters. "Sorry I'm late," I said, breathless, plonking down next to Cerenna. It was all Cersei's retinue draped about her big parlour with a bard plucking away in the background. "My Aunt Lysa stopped by just as I was leaving and she wanted me to dine with her, but of course I'd already agreed to come here." Lysa had hardened considerably when I mentioned the word 'Lannister'.

"It was so odd, it seemed as if she had a message for me, but then she rushed off," I said. "Cerenna?"

"M-hm?" she said. I thought it was a bit rude but I dropped it. She didn't seem much up for conversation; she was focused quite intently on the flaxen-haired young bard. The party returning from the west had picked him up along the way somewhere. I'd seen him at the funeral - he had a number of dreary songs about Jon Arryn nobody wanted to hear. I didn't think much of him now either, warbling the kind of gush ladies at court liked to hear about sweet maidens and brave shepherds. I turned my attention instead to the gathering. I was supposed to try and remember all their names - a Broom, two Westerlings, a few cadet Lannisters sitting on the floor glancing nervously about them. The queen herself was nowhere to be seen but the room was done out nicely - she'd brought back perfume from Lannisport and it hung in a cloud over everyone. It was hot; the weather felt like it had been steadily getting warmer and warmer since I'd arrived in King's Landing and now it was torturous, all I felt able to do was sit and let myself cook.

At the end of the song (one last verse about the shepherd living to his grandson knighted) Cerenna stood and moved to the other side of the room, ostensibly to help herself to the grapes but I noted she didn't return to her seat beside me.

"Is everything alright with her?" I asked Myrielle, who'd been on her other side.

"Yes, my lady."

I was too preoccupied with the heat to care much about rudeness. It felt like all the pores from my armpits to my palms to the backs of my knees had decided to open all at once and the room was so stuffy - the windows were closed to avoid the summer stench of the city. "There's no fan or anything about, is there?" I said. "I'm still not used to this heat." One of the Westerlings offered me hers and I took it gratefully.

"I suppose even in summer it's much colder up North."

"My brother wrote they're having _snow_ there now," I said. Snow sounded just about like bliss just then. I fanned myself but it was like blowing steam in my face. "You wouldn't open a window, would you?" I asked Myrielle.

"The queen wouldn't like it, my lady."

I frowned. "Honestly what's up? What's all this 'my lady' bit?"

"Just being polite," Myrielle said. She bit her lip. She seemed to be trying very hard to stay stiff in her seat.

"Alright _my lady_," I said. We lapsed into silence then. The bard had started something about The Seven. I saw her shooting my furtive sidelong glances.

"Don't be angry with Cerenna," she finally whispered. "It's not her fault. The queen came to us last night."

"Oh. I'm sure I can guess what you discussed."

"Nothing bad! Nothing bad at all! She just reminded us that we're Lannisters, and our allegiance is really hers, you know?"

Mulling it over, this was not unexpected. It made me angry though. If Cersei thought I would lose new friends so easily, be batted aside like a child, she was wrong. I thought about my words very carefully before speaking. "I understand what she means about allegiance," I said. "But have you ever thought about _which_ Lannister you align yourself to?" Myrielle would not look at me. She focused on the bard but she shrugged her shoulders helplessly all the same. "Have you ever thought that in twenty years, she'll be just a widower, the mother of the king? How much attention do you think Joffrey will pay her?" I said, and paused to let that sink in. "On the other hand, I'll be Lady of Casterly Rock. You and I could have children around the same time. My sons will rule the west." It came out even and cool, nobody else heard a word, but my heart was hammering furiously in my chest. It was all very well to talk grandly but I was only fumbling about and guessing at these southron games.

"I-"

"Myrielle?" Cerenna hissed. She had crossed the room, looming down over us. "Could I speak with you a moment?"

"I _wasn't_ talking to her," Myrielle began. "Just Lady Eltanin had a good point - I mean, Cersei is big now, but she won't always be, will she?"

Cerenna was obviously mortified to be discussing it in such crude terms. I could see it in the whites of her eyes, the way her eyebrows shot up on her high forehead, hands pressing down on her thighs to stop them fidgeting.

"What can she really do?" Myrielle said. "We won't be invited to tea anymore, but who cares? We have somewhere else to go now. Sit down, just think about it a second."

She did sit down, and glanced about desperately to see if anybody was listening in. "You _can't_ talk like that Myr, you just can't," she whispered. She took her sister's hand and then glanced at me, "Look we're really sorry but-"

And then Cersei entered the room and Cerenna froze. She dropped Myrielle's hand and cast her eyes downward, as if awaiting punishment. I saw Cersei scan the room but she acted as if nothing was amiss. The queen only sat and complained about my Aunt Lysa - Lord Arryn had arranged to have their boy fostered with Lord Tywin and now Lysa was trying to back out. All the ladies made sympathetic noises (how ungrateful! and he never took squires - what an honour Lysa had spurned!) and fussed about her.

"Will he take another boy?" one of the cadet branch Lannisters piped up.

"_Will he_?" Cersei repeated. "Are you thinking of your brother?" They started jibing the girl then, some more light-hearted than others, about her ambitions and high notions. The whole thing was distasteful to me. It reminded me of Jeyne Poole and her nicknames for Arya - horseface, dark eyes, Strange, Left foot, three foot, _Boy_. I made my excuses to leave as soon as the first course of food was over. Cersei made a show of wishing me good health and calling me her good sister. Sometimes I felt I was a captured bird of hers being paraded and petted before the kill.

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	9. Chapter 9

Jaime came to my room unexpectedly one afternoon. Lysa had fled King's Landing by then and all of the Lannisters were too afraid to talk to me so I was quite happy to have a visitor. He dismissed my maid and said, "Cersei wants you to go to Winterfell."

"Excuse me?" I was at that moment beached on the sofa with puffy ankles up on the armrest. A walk to the _baths_ counted as an excursion.

"Not alone," he said quickly. "The king is taking a party to visit your father, and Cersei wants you."

"I was too pregnant to go to Casterly Rock... but I'm alright to go north?"

"I - well... do you know why Cersei wants you? She wouldn't have you left behind. I didn't think you'd exactly warmed to each other though."

"I don't think Cersei's 'warm' for many people," I said. "I can guess though. Last time she left the city I befriended a few of your kin."

"What do you mean?"

"She's a bit particular about the lives and habits of her retinue."

"Oh she's not _that_ bad. She just looks out for them."

Not for the first time I felt Jaime was somewhat blind when it came to his sister. Tyrion wouldn't even have needed to be told. Just for this instance though I was happy to bend to her will - Winterfell! I hadn't digested the news properly, it didn't seem true.

"Will you be alright, then, to travel? We won't be leaving for a while, there's a lot to sort out about how to transport everyone."

"I suppose I'll make do. The maester said the baby's not due til around the half-year anyways."

He nodded. "You can have it up north," he said. "Er.. everything going okay with that side of things?" He always seemed to come over cold the odd times he was forced to acknowledge I was pregnant. On feast days when we were seated together various lords and ladies always thought it was complimentary to come up and congratulate us. Jaime always affected a bored air, as if it was all beneath him, but beside me he always grew rigid and he was always awkward afterwards. It was as if he was embarrassed people realised he'd gotten me pregnant.

"I'm fine," I told him.

When I left I thought how he was curiously different to how he seemed, how oddly squeamish, awkward, duck-footed, nervous he came across sometimes. The image of the man extrapolated from second hand stories didn't line up with reality at all.

* * *

The process of packing everything up and watching the squabbles of who was to be brought north was excruciating. Jon Arryn had been dead almost a month by the time we set off. The day for leaving was postponed twice and even when it finally came, it was noon rather than daybreak when the procession was finally looking ready to begin. I was impatient to get started but everybody else was perfectly happy to stand around chatting. The royal family had not even appeared yet. We were all at the gates to the Red Keep, squires holding horses, men who hadn't carried banners for years awkwardly stretching out their riding gear, women discussing clothing arrangements - _how many dresses have _you_ brought, Lady Eltanin?_ I had no idea, I had 'overseen' my packing in only the loosest sense.

There were not many ladies travelling and we were split between the queen's elaborately carved pillowed wheelhouse and a more practical, robust carriage. I was not completely sure which one I'd be in and nobody had taken a place yet anyways so I was milling around them when I saw Myrielle worm her way through the crowd and run up to me. She threw her arms around me. "Sorry I didn't come sooner," she said, breathless. "But I brought you this," and she had a little blanket clutched in one hand. "Oh Cerenna will kill me for crumpling it. She made it for you, for the baby; you'll have had it by the time you're back." I held the blanket and looked at it. It was exquisite, white with scarlet trim and a Lannister lion delicately picked out in gold thread. I opened my mouth to thank her but Myrielle charged on, hurrying to fit in everything she wanted to say; "She would've come out to see you, but we just can't afford to upset Cersei. She talked to us again and see it's worse for Cerenna, she needs a marriage sooner than I do, and it's Cersei who'll arrange it all." She was begging me with her eyes and I knew I'd never hold a grudge against them.

"It's fine." I smiled, to show I meant it. "Look, we'll meet again in better times, right? In ten years it'll all be a different story, right?"

"Right!" She threw her arms around me again and ran off, just in time too because the king appeared in the great entrance doors and behind him the queen and the children. Everything was really set into motion then. His enormous destrier was fetched, it took both his yellow-haired squires to do it, and meanwhile Cersei surveyed the ladies gathered on the steps. "I'll have Lady Eltanin and Lady Jast," she said, and she was helped into the wheelhouse with Tommen and Myrcella hopping along to keep up. I followed, clutching the blanket like a child. I was a bit nervous in case Cersei recognised the needlework but even when Myrcella's septa commented on it, Cersei paid no attention. Lady Lanna Jast was complaining about having to travel so far and Cersei was stoking her on.

We sat another quarter hour before finally, finally, the signal was given to move off, and the wheelhouse creaked to life.

* * *

It had taken me ten days to travel from Winterfell to King's Landing for my wedding but this journey took over a month and it was indescribably, hugely, boring. During the day I sat in that stuffy, creaking wheelhouse listening to whichever lickspit Lady Lannister had been invited to join us fawn over the children. Myrcella was always being made to lay down her sewing and sing for them. If it wasn't that they were gushing over her entirely mediocre embroidery or admiring Tommen's behaviour even as he fidgetted and whine. I did not blame him. At least he cheered up somewhat when he realised my cat had somehow been brought along with us. I let him wrap it up in the blanket Cerenna had made (the trim got a bit shredded but I pretended not to notice) and he kept himself entertained feeding it treats and trying to teach it tricks.

This was out of the question, of course, on the days Prince Joffrey rode with us. These were the worst days. "Would you like me to go with the other ladies today, your grace?" I'd say sweetly when it was announced, but Cersei always refused. She was not taking any chances of my wooing her bannerwomen again.

So we had another person squashed into the seats (the white pillows looking quite grimy at this stage) and what a detestable person he was too. He was thirteen and tall and embarassed at not being able to ride every day, which made him even pricklier than usual. There was always an excuse provided as to why he couldn't ride - his horse had a sore foot, he had a sore foot etc etc - but it all boiled down to that fact that he was not a particularly good ride and his arse was more tender than he wanted to admit.

My usual occupation during these long days was to close my eyes and daydream of my homecoming (father, mother, Jon, Sansa, Arya, Bran, Rickon, Theon, Jory, Nan, Hodor, even Jeyne Poole - their names were something of a prayer to me) but Joffrey made that difficult. "Why doesn't your father move his castle further south?" came that whiny voice. "Civilisation starts north of the Dornish marches and ends at the neck as far as I'm concerned. I can't tell the difference between Northmen and wildlings."

"_Joffrey_," Cersei said indulgently, and he did stop but only to go back to pinching and prodding Tommen.

Then I was just back thinking about Winterfell and kneeling in the Godswood and Septa Mordane and the hot springs and my Uncle Benjen when the procession was called to a juddering, rattling halt and _oh_, what are we stopping for this time?

The things that delayed us; the king wanted to hunt, the king could not be woken up, the king's warhorse had bolted through the stable door at the inn and had to be recaptured, the scouts had not found a suitable inn for the following night, the wheelhouse needed to be repaired, two dozen knights had gone to a whorehouse and had not returned, two chests with presents for my father had been left at the previous inn... the list went on and on til I wanted to claw my eyes out.

The only small respite came when we stopped at night. The inns were nothing to sneeze about, being mostly rundown and too small, but Jaime and I always had the second best room. I always forgot that we were Big Cheese because everybody was older than me and Jaime wasn't even actually a Lord Paramount yet, but it did have its advantages.

The respite came in the form of Jaime being about as fed up and bitter as me. We sat side by side on the soft, sagging mattress, miserably thumping flat pillows, and no matter was safe from our derision and criticism. "I am tempted," he said. "To kill every boar from here to Wintefell, just so I don't have to sit another two days watching Robert chase one."

"I'd massage Joffrey's backside if it meant he'd actually ride his horse tomorrow."

"His room's across the hall, if you'd like."

I gagged. "Eugh. I wouldn't fancy that. I don't Cersei's gotten him in a bath since King's Landing."

"You're smelling a bit funny yourself. What's that perfume you stink of?"

"Blame your sweet sister. At least I don't smell like a horse." I was used to his smell by now, but I said it anyway.

"You'd smell too if you spent twelve hours a day clinging to a sweaty mane. I hope the stables in Winterfell are as far from our rooms as possible. I've never been so intimately acquainted with an animal before."

"I don't care about horses as long as there are no wheelhouses. I swear, I feel I'm in it even when I'm asleep. I'm ready to take it for firewood at this stage."

"Aren't you a misery. You're _young_, you're supposed to be the one cheering me up."

"You'd be miserable if you were married to a thirty year old man and hadn't seen your family for a year."

"Well I wouldn't mind about my family, but I do hope I never find myself married to a thirty year old man."

I didn't want to laugh at that but a snort escaped and then I was gone and he was grinning too, terribly self-congratulatory so I hit him with my pillow and then lay my head on it and said, "Come on! Lights out!" and, you know, I watched him hop to the candles in his longshorts, cursing the cold, and I felt we were almost friends.

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**Please leave a comment, even if it's short! :D **


	10. Chapter 10

**Me again :) You know, I'm a med student with two jobs in the middle of my exams. I have a lot of things I should be doing instead of writing...but somehow I'm three chapters ahead of myself.  
Anyways, smut warning ahead.**

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Next morning we broke our fast in the wheelhouse, we'd been on the road almost four weeks and the king wanted to make up time, and Cersei was in a foul mood. "What's wrong, mother?" Tommen said. "Would you like to hold the cat?"

"I didn't sleep well darling," she said, but she was glaring at me as she said it. "I could hear _giggling_ all night."

That was ridiculous of course - we had talked for maybe twenty minutes the party had broken up - but I didn't respond. If Cersei hated me making friends she _loathed_ any reference to Jaime and I as a couple. Sometimes I revelled in it. I taunted her with it; "Well _Jaime_ thinks..." I'd say to Tommen, or; "Perhaps 'Jaimette' for a girl," when Myrcella pleaded with me about baby names.

Somehow sitting with Cersei on those wretched pillows day after day, I lost my fear of her. She was sad and vain and seemed to spend her hours carefully cotton-wrapping a monstrously proprotioned ego. What was there to be afraid of? I was already friendless, I had no money of my own, no ambitions... She couldn't turn Jaime against me because he wasn't _for_ me in the first place. It was an oddly powerful position she'd landed me in. When she expressed displeasure it only fuelled me further. That night with Jaime, I turned my wit up high as I could and laughed free and easy at the thought of her fuming in the next room.

The only downside of it all was it left me feeling very close to Jaime. I was there in the dark each night listening to him breath, not quite touching but close enough to smell (horse, sweat, grass, tavern smoke and wet wool) and it was hard not to let my mind roam loose and fix him with some different personality and imagine to myself that he loved me, that I loved him, that he'd stand up for me if he could hear Cersei's snide remarks. The baby moving around in my stomach kept me up but not as much as those half-formed daydreams.

It was worse when we woke up in the mornings half-entangled; sometimes his mouth found odd spots behind my ears, at the crest of my neck, the crown of my head, and I woke up with him jerking out of these intimate positions. It was too much for me. Usually there was his arousal too, absent the first weeks of the journey but there every morning by the time we were close to Winterfell. I suppose it had been weeks since he'd had his paramour in King's Landing and any little thing seemed to set him off - seeing me undress, if I happened to brush past him taking my seat for dinner, if I even _asked_ for my maid to run a bath. The inn rooms got smaller and colder the further North we went and they seemed to push us together, he felt the cold worse than I and there was nowhere to hide in those narrow beds and mouldy furs. We were both fed up of complaining by then but sometimes he delayed putting out the lamps; it was so much worse in the dark.

Once at the very end of trip, I woke up in the middle of the night and we were facing each other in bed, rolled in together. "Are you awake?" I whispered, even though I could tell by his breathing that he was.

"Yes." It came out strained, pained; a bare yelp.

I lay there a few seconds, contemplating. It was truly the middle of the night - the inn was silent but for some rustling, a cough in a distant room, a bed groaning as somebody turned over. The night was black, the heavy wooden shutters muffled all noise from outside. I propped myself up on one elbow and took a handful of his shirt and leaned over to kiss him.

For a moment he was startled and then he was pushing back at me, mechanically, as if his limbs moved of their own volition. His hands moved up to roam my body and he couldn't get close enough. It wasn't really comparable to the 'sex' we'd had previously. He broke a sweat even though the air was icy. My hands were not limp by my side but working to get him out of his clothes as fast as he tore mine. I bit my lip to hold back a giggle when I reached down to touch him and he quivered, he was rock hard, ready to go. And for once his fingers were not a means to an end. They felt different too; calloused from days on horseback, his thumb was rough tracing dry circles on me. He only broke the kiss to pull me up, to reposition himself above me. He'd always held himself back but I preferred this, this... he was not aggressive but it was a sort of aggression. He pushed himself in and oh, he began slow, not the steady rocking of a wheel as I remembered but the natural rhythm, slow at first, a heartbeat promising to speed up in time. His eyes were closed, head bent to administer to my throat, my collarbone, previously neglected hollows and crannies that were now set ablaze. My foot hooked over the back of his leg, my heel stroked his calf urgently, begging him to speed up. I had some feeling low in my stomach I needed him to reach, I pushed my hips up to meet him, trying to get him deeper, closer. "_Jaime_," it was a whine, a whisper, we were both going as fast as we could, and then he said it, breathless, hanging above me, eyes closed - "_Cersei_."

I heard it, he heard it. My stomach withdrew into itself, but I wanted to see it through. His eyes flew open and his rhythm faltered but I didn't want him to stop so I pulled him in to kiss me again and let out a low groan to spur him on. Perhaps he managed to push it out of his mind and lose himself again, but I didn't. Oh it still felt _good_, but it wasn't the same.

He rolled off afterward, still panting. One arm was beneath me and we lay like that on our backs in the dark. The sweat was cooling in a shiver all down my arms. "Cersei," I repeated. "Always her?"

He turned his head as if to burrow into my hair. "Sorry," he said indistinctly.

"No, no, really, it explains a lot," I said.

"You won't tell anyone, will you?"

"Who have I got to tell?" and it hung in the air, he didn't answer, only went to sleep after a while (what did I expect?) and I lay awake.

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**I'm sort of unsure about this chapter. I hadn't planned to go into detail during the story because I don't think smut is my strong point, but I decided it was necessary here. Anyways, let me know what you think! Reviews are super faboo brill**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm I know some of you would just like Jaime to proclaim his love and take all his clothes off and I'm sure we will get there eventually, but I want this story to do a get a bit more than that, you know? I mean once it happens, the main story arc is over. So sorry, things get dealt with slowly.**

**Anyways this is just a short chapter.**

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I got a brief hug from my father before Robert demanded to be shown the crypts. Cersei made to complain but Jaime moved forward and as he spoke to her in a low voice, his eyes caught mine. He didn't look ashamed - it was just that same infuriating, disdaining, bored look fixed to his face, a part of his armour he wore as easily as a sword. I kept my face composed and turned away.

I forgot all about him (why waste the space in my mind?) and forced a smile as Arya and Bran ran to me. Rickon was making strange and hiding in mother's skirts, he didn't like all the new people, and Sansa was momentarily preoccupied curtsying to Myrcella, but Arya and Bran were giddy enough to make up for it. "Elta!" they cried.

"Look at you, look at you! I don't recognise this little lady, and could this strapping lord really be my Brandon?" I said and they squealed and hit me. It wasn't really true - it hadn't even been a year, after all. Arya _had_ stretched a bit, grown even bonier (and _had _her face gotten longer?) Bran was unchanged, his eyes were still clear and bright Tully blue staring out unabashed beneath a wave of auburn hair.

"I missed you," Arya said. "Sansa's no fun." She looked me up and down. "You've gotten very big," she added.

"Arya!" my mother said, but she was soon smiling, pulling me into an embrace. "You look well. Pregnancy suits you." Then, with a critical eye, she said, "Though that Southern style doesn't hide much, does it? I'll see if we can git you into one of my old dresses for tonight."

I laughed. I had forgotten Northern fashion - plain braids, grey wool, thick cloaks designed to blend every human form into a sort of unisex blob. Even the southern men were more colourful than our gaudiest lady.

Mother tried to get Rickon to kiss me but he shied away, he was too young to be polite I suppose, though Bran did coax him into woodenly suffering my kiss on his cheek. Mother moved to greet Cersei, inquiring good-naturedly about the journey, and Sansa came to me. She dipped a low curtsy, I could tell she must have practised it for the day. "Very pretty," I said. "You wouldn't look out of place at court."

"Really?" Her eyes shone. It was about the kindest compliment I could have given her. "Will you tell me all about it?"

"I'd rather hear what's been going on up here," I said.

"We've got wolves!" Bran said. "Direwolves! Come on and we'll show you." He slipped his hand into mine and tried to tug me in the right direction.

"Direwolves?" I repeated.

"Yes! All of us, even Rickon," Sansa said.

"There wasn't one for you though." Arya looked worried. "There were only five."

"You could have Jon's," Sansa said helpfully.

"She can't _take_ Jon's _wolf_, stupid!" Arya said. "You can share Nymeria though, if you'd like."

"It's alright, I don't need a wolf," I said. "It wouldn't get along with my cat anyways."

"A cat?" Bran said doubtfully. "Well, I suppose that's good too." He didn't seem much convinced. "Say, have you met many knights down south?" He wanted to hear all about Ser Loras at the tourney for Joffrey's nameday and how he had unhorsed Jaime despite being a lad of only sixteen. Some misplaced compulsion to loyalty made me remind him that Jaime could have trounced them all in hand-to-hand combat.

Sansa was very particular asking about the emblem of their surcoats and what was Jaime's horse's name (I had no idea - I invented something suitable) and she was disappointed Loras had only crowned his sister Queen of Love and Beauty. "Cheer up, that means he's free to fall in love with you instead," I said, and she blushed spectacularly. I tried to remember - had I been like that at her age, always dreaming of knights and court? Life down south was not all glamour. I glanced to Jaime. He was standing beside my mother and Cersei, ignoring their conversation entirely to frown up at the battlements and humble granite towers. If I _had_ dreamt of knights, would it have been Jaime as he was just then, wind picking at his hair, eyes distant, the weak Northern sun touching along that straight and strong jaw?

Arya, having slipped off during my description of the tourney, reappeared just then. In one arm she had a wolf pup, already the size of a small dog, and with the other hand she dragged Jon. She'd obviously been running to sniff him out and I could see the hem of her dress was already filthy.

"Jon!" I said. He had grown a bit, but not much, and had the peckings of a moustache picked out across his upper lip which I had to work hard not to smile out. He was awkward and shifted uncomfortably in his boots but I'd expected that. He was the best for writing letters but they were always a bit stiff and reticent. You had to work to crack him open. We were only at "I hope you didn't find the journey too hard," and "You look well, Lady Lannister", though, when Cersei began complaining of the cold and servants I no longer recognised appeared to show us to our quarters.


	12. Chapter 12

The Guest House was big enough for Jaime and I to have adjoining rooms so we didn't speak much. I knew him well enough to read his moods - he would make no apologies, give no explanations. I didn't care. The thought of him and Cersei was vile, but it was a discovered final piece to the puzzle, an explanation for her shiftless, restless jealousy, his devotion.

He was happy enough in Winterfell, I think. All he ever wanted to do was spar and there were plenty of Northmen foolish enough to fall to his sword.

I had a sort of second girlhood, despite the fact that my stomach was expanding at an alarming rate. I prayed in the godswood with father, watched Rickon for my mother, visited Nan, even looked in on some of those wretched sewing circles with the septa. She had them all sewing baby things. Sansa sighed when I thanked her for a blanket with a direwolf on it. "I'd rather be doing lions," she said. "They're much prettier."

"My wolf looks a bit like a lion," Arya said, turning her embroidery and squinting at it. "It could be anything really though."

"It's a bit crooked. You'll have to unstitch that bit," Sansa said.

"Oh blow, it could be a kraken for all I care," Arya said, putting it down. Thankfully the septa was over the other side of the room.

"I doubt the baby will care much either," I said. "I have to say the best bit about King's Landing is there's nobody around to make me sew, or sing, or practice my harp."

"Septa Mordane said you need to be able to sew, for your husband," Sansa said.

"Well I'm married and she isn't. Jaime hasn't asked me for any handkerchiefs yet anyways."

"I bet if Sansa married Joffrey, she'd sew him handkerchiefs _all day long_."

"Arya!" Sansa was blushing again.

"He'd have so many handkerchiefs he could use them to wipe his-"

"Arya!" the septa was crossing over to us. "Are you working?"

"Yes." She made a face and picked the little scrap with the wolf-lion-kraken up.

"And you must let me fix your hair, what must your lady sister think of you?"

"I'll do it, septa. I had only come to ask Arya to the Godswood with me anyways."

Arya swallowed a grin and threw her needlework into the work basket. "_Gently_!" the septa said, but Arya was already off. It took me longer to heave to my feet and waddle out. "Coming?" I said to Sansa at the door. She bit her lip and hesitated, then hurried out too.

"We're not really going to the godswood, are we?" Arya said. She was bent down to scratch Nymeria between the ears.

"Yes, and I'm going to fix your hair too," I said, and mussed it up. "No, we're going to the library."

I wanted to get the big Stark books out. I made Arya fetch them for me - she was quicker up the corkscrew steps of the library tower.

"Would you really marry Joffrey?" I asked Sansa.

She smiled, blushed, looked down to tickle Lady's immaculate fur. I wanted to shake her. "Yes, no, I don't know," she said. "I'm sure it won't happen, anyways." She sighed and looked up the tower and I could almost see the visions dancing in front of her - golden haired babies, her playing gracious queen, an enormous wedding, jewels at her throat and in her hair, a prince to present her with a crown of flowers as the crowd cheered their approval.

Arya came down the stairs in a clatter, sleeves bunched around her skinny elbows. "I didn't know which one you wanted, so I brought them all," she said. She had three enormous volumes of Stark histories and birthdates clasped to her chest and she staggered carrying them all the way to the guest house.

All the men and boys were out hunting and Cersei was entertaining in the parlour so I chose the morning room. We were only just set up cosy around the table when Jaime appeared at the door. Sansa went a bit scarlet and began studying the tome in front of her. "Weren't you hunting?" Arya said. He looked down as if a fly on the bread had begun to speak.

"I was," he said.

"But you came back?"

"Hunting's not really my thing. What are you lot doing?"

The question was addressed to me but it was Arya who chimed in again; "Elta wanted to think up baby names."

"I thought Northerners didn't name their children until they were screaming."

"Well... I don't know, maybe the south has some things right," I said.

"Have _you_ got any ideas?" Arya said. The child had no shame, no shyness, no natural compunction to manners.

"Jaime for a boy," he said, as if it was the only natural manner, and then after a second's thought - "Cersei for a girl."

"You wouldn't call it _Cersei_!" Arya said. She was kneeling in her chair and her hair was still sticking up in every direction. I could see Sansa was itching to jerk her down sitting properly and smooth her hair.

"Alright, Joanna then," Jaime said, irritated now.

"Wouldn't you rather it have a name of its own, my lord?" That was Sansa, timid and sweet.

"I'm not a lord," he said, as was his habit.

"You're just not able to think of any other names," Arya said.

He frowned. "There's...Tywin." That made Arya throw her head back and laugh (Sansa was ready to die). Jaime looked properly angry for a moment but then he was back to his usual bored expression. "Enjoy yourselves anyways," he said, and left. Arya had regained composure but burst out laughing again once he was gone.

"Arya!" Sansa said. "I'm so ashamed of you, how could you be so _rude_?" but Arya only stuck her tongue out.

"I don't think very much of your Jaime," she said, back to flicking through pages of the Stark book.

"Like a lot of very beautiful people, I think he was born entirely without an imagination," I said.

And then Sansa, dreamy, head resting on one hand, eyes lingering on the door he'd left through: "He is _very _handsome though."


End file.
